Baby Becca
by ispiltthemilk
Summary: An abundance of pre-series moments between Sam, Dean, and their younger sister, Becca. Ties in with, but not necessary to read alongside, "My Twist to the Winchester Tale".
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, guys. It took me a ****_really_**** long time to decide if I wanted to do this. I mean, like, a ****_really _****long time. I'm still not completely sure if I want to commit myself to it. I guess part of it depends on the response I get. Part of it also depends on how much I want to put into it, too...**

**This series of chapters will consist of moments, memories, flashbacks, all that good stuff. It all pertains to Becca (the OC I've created in ****_My Twist to the Winchester Tale_****). There may be extensions of flashbacks that have already been written about or mentioned in that series. If ever you do want to see one of those flashbacks mentioned, let me know, I will see if we can work something out. :)**

**Each chapter will probably vary in length, since they are not following a transcript I have to have everything be original, and that's actually a lot harder than it sounds. Sometimes. Anyway. I will also try to make each chapter a full thing in its own, meaning I'm going to try and NOT do part 2's unless highly necessary. Updates for this series will most likely not be as consistent as those for ****_My Twist..._**** just because 1) I plan to really only post these as they come to me, or as they follow the other story; 2) My main focus is to be on ****_My Twist..._**** and I don't want to stray away from that. I already feel as though I'm slacking on that as it is.**

**I want to thank sweetkiwi604 for even giving me this idea. She is really the one who started this whole mess, so you can thank or blame her ;).  
****Also, there is the never ending thanks for Jenmm31 and SPNxBookworm who are total peer pressure people and will say, "You should do it!" over and over again. It's all love that I have for all 3 of them, and it really is because of them that I'm even sitting here still staring at the screen unsure.  
And thank YOU for even bothering to give this story a chance. You guys are the reason it is here, so I hope it's worth it.**

**So, I guess, here we go.**

**Disclaimer.  
I, ispiltthemilk, do not own any part of ****_Supernatural_**** or anything related to it. I own actually nothing really, besides my car and a stuffed elephant and moose. The only part of this that I can take credit for is Becca and her story, points of view, and anything about her really... Dean, Sam, Bobby, John, all of those awesome people? I have nothing to do with them. I just throw them in here so Becca has people to interact with.**

**READ. REVIEW. ENJOY. :)**

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**Becca's Broken Nose. (I'll try to give all the chapters these cute little title things, but no promises).**

**Ages:**  
**Dean - 16**  
**Sam/Becca - 12**

**Year:**  
**1995; Late Summer**

**Becca's Point of View**

"Ugh, it's... not… working!" I dramatically cried out like a child as I stomped my foot. I pulled back again, and the only thing that happened was that my fingers started to hurt more along the insides of my knuckles. They were red, and burning while aching, and I could have sworn one was bleeding a little. "Dad, it's broken," I announced through a yell as I dropped my hands, the bow swinging next to my leg, and I turned to my left, seeing him standing beside my brother.

"Good job!" I heard my father congratulate Sam at the "_thuck_" of his arrow hitting into the target that sat farthest away from us in the distance. I grimaced as Sam's body moved from the claps on his shoulder and seemed to practically buckle beneath the unintentional hard force. His face twisted into a slight painful look with each impact. When our father looked down at him with those warm eyes and that genuine smile though, Sam couldn't help but have at least a small grin on his lips.

Sam wasn't exactly _thrilled_ to be doing this. In fact, he argued with Dad about doing it at all; he'd said that he didn't want to learn bow hunting. He even suggested that he stay home and do homework, try to keep up his grades in school. Sam's grades were never _low_ in school, and Dad knew that. Sam was unnaturally smart, the little show off. Dad had "cleared his day" to work with us on this and told Dean to pack everything we needed. When Sam tried to stay home, there was an argument that ended like they usually do. "_Sam, enough. I'm your father, you're my son, and you're doing what I said. Now, help your brother load the car, and move._" There was the usual grunt and finger point and scowl and me lowering my eyes while not knowing whose side to take.

"Can we be done now?" I heard Sam ask as a frown crossed his face.

My dad sighed, walking towards the targets to collect all the arrows. Obviously, that was a "No". I caught Sam's eyes and his entire face read that he was bored and didn't think that any of this was important. It was an uninterested look, but yet, you could tell his humor level was at not even existing. He gave that look to Dean a lot. But, like normal, I laughed at his face when he gave it to me. It was the eyes. He always looked up as though his eyes were half rolled and silently told me, "_this is dumb_". Sam could always make me laugh – no matter what.

"You're up, Becca. Show us what ya got," my dad directed to me, avoiding Sam's question once he was on his way back. My eyes and silent conversation with Sam broke, and almost looked over at our dad like I was guilty of something. I didn't like to get in between their arguments. I didn't like the yelling. But it's hard not to get into the middle of a Winchester battle. Someone always says something, and even if you do agree, you shouldn't say it, but you'll be dragged in either way. Dean was dragged in as much as I was, maybe more.

Shaking my head, I snapped back to the innocence of the moment I'd been having. "I got nothin'!" I rolled my eyes as I told him with my "_this isn't working_" face. I hadn't shot a single arrow, because I couldn't pull back the string. All my arrows were still sitting next to my feet in their stupid pile.

"Try it again," my father huffed as he came to stand beside me. I could tell from the sound of his voice and the look on his face that he didn't believe me. He thought I was just doing my best to not pull back on the bow if it was too hard. He always thought I tried to get out of doing things if they were too hard. I mean, I don't try to get out of _every_thing.

I growled and lifted the bow in front of my face, my arm stretched out in front of me. Bringing up my opposite hand, I wrapped three fingers around the string and pulled. Nothing. I tried pulling again. Nothing. Now I was frustrated. I pulled, and I pulled, and I grunted, and I pulled, and I pulled until I was purple in the face.

"All right, all right, relax. I don't want you to pop a blood vessel," my dad smiled at me while he put a hand on my arm, pushing it down slightly as a sign that I should quit. Setting the arrows down at his feet, he waved over Sam. "Bring that bow over here, Sammy," he directed. Sam slowly walked over, carrying the bow, and handed it to our father. "Here, try this one," he bent down and picked up an arrow for me. "Sam, you try hers. See if you can pull back on that one."

Sam and I nodded, each of us taking our instructed weapon. Sam went back to his spot while I took up my stance and aimed at my target. Placing the arrow on the rest, I clicked it onto the string and put my three fingers around the nock and where it grabbed the string. The string slid back with ease, and I tried to contain my excitement and stay serious so that I didn't drop the arrow down so that it pointed towards my toes. The last thing I needed was an arrow in the foot. Aiming to the center of the target, I steadied the line, exhaled, and released. The arrow sliced through the air, a large smile spreading as it went up and then smacked into the ground maybe ten feet in front of me. The nearest target was at least twenty feet away. Grr.

My dad nodded his head while rubbing his chin. He didn't look angry though, so that was a relief. Normally he'd have blamed it on me or something. "Okay, good. Sam, let's see you try," he instructed as we both turned to watch my twin.

Sam fixed his stance and did everything I'd just done. He tried to pull back on the string, and nothing. Gritting his teeth, he pulled harder. Still nothing. He slumped after the two pulls, his shoulders curling in defeat. "It's too hard," Sam sighed as he walked back over to us with the bow.

Nodding his head, I think my dad already assumed that Sam wouldn't be able to pull it back. "Let me see them both," he told us, holding out his hands. Sam and I handed them over and waited quietly nearby. Eventually, after a few minutes, we were more focused on trying to step on each other's toes than paying attention to anything our dad was doing. It's not like we could have done anything anyway.

"What'd ya break this time, Bec?" Dean teased as he came across the field carrying a bag full of food and a cardboard carrier full of sodas. I looked at him not understanding, Sam stomping on my foot at the opportunity. Dean motioned to where our dad was focused on the top wheel.

Glaring at him, I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled. "I didn't break _anything_, you boob. It was already broken."

"Ooh, nice come back," Dean mocked, setting the stuff down on the top of one of the boxes we'd brought for the arrows and targets and such.

"Dean," my dad snapped, making us all turn to look at him. I thought for sure he'd be yelled at for picking on me. He wasn't. "These look the same to you?" he questioned, nodding Dean over.

Dean pushed past Sam and took the bows from my dad and inspected the weights and pulleys and whatever else you do to make sure a bow is set correctly. Sam "_psst_"ed bedside me, drawing my eyes to him. I stepped beside him as he waved me over. "Wanna mess with Dean's food?" What? Is he crazy? Dean _loves_ food. Especially pie. Messing with Dean's food could end up with someone missing an eyeball, or, or toe or he might even _kill_ you.

"Yes," I stated simply, without even thinking twice.

Sam grinned and we huddled around the white, paper bag that Dean brought with him, digging out the burgers. Figuring out which one was Dean's by the amount of onions and bacon that was piled on top, we unwrapped it and then stared at it. Neither of us had a plan. We're lame. "Remember what Matt did to Jimmy in school this past year? With the fake fishing worm thing? We could put a _real_ worm in his food," I suggested. Sam gave me a look that said, "_don't be dumb_". "Or not," I quickly retorted.

"Bec, come over here," Dean called. Great. I shot a look to Sam and he just winked and then bent down to pluck some grass out of the dirt. "_Today_," Dean groaned louder.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'," I drawled as I turned and made my way over.

I stood waiting for him to say something, and he didn't. My dad was checking the bow Sam had been using, and I saw him look up when I audibly exhaled, signaling my boredom. "Pull back on this one again," my dad held out the bow. I didn't need an arrow, so I stood in their small group, and raised the bow, pulling back on the string with ease. "Okay, now that one," Dean handed the other one over, and we switched. Holding that one up, I pulled. Nothing.

I gave it back and flexed my fingers. "Sam's was easier than the last time."

"Okay," my dad took Sam's bow back and began to tighten the string. "What about now?"

Taking the bow again, I tried pulling. I struggled a little, but managed to get it. "It's harder," I told him.

"Sammy, I want you to see if you can still pull this back," my dad said taking the bow and heading off towards Sam.

I turned away from Sam's fallen face back around to see Dean messing with the bow. I just stared at him, not saying anything. He raised his brows as he continued working. "Can I help you?" he questioned with a bit of a "_yes_?" face.

Shaking my head, I answered, "Just watching. You told me to come over here, remember?"

He finished up and held the bow out. "Now try it," he directed. I held the bow up, and tried pulling, getting nowhere. He let me struggle for a few moments before swiping the bow from my hands. "Well, what the hell?!" he barked as he started messing with the bow once more.

Looking down at my feet when I thought I felt a bug on my leg, I kicked my foot and saw my lace was untied. Bending down to tie it, I hummed to myself to the tune of whatever song had been last playing in the Impala. I did it mainly to ignore the grunts of swears Dean was making above me. I mean, the guy mumbles under his breath all the time when he's frustrated. Who's going to really think it's a big deal? Just as I stood back up next to him, I faced the ground and pulled down my shirt, and just as I sniffed and lifted my head back up to look ahead of me, something hard snapped into my face, sending me down to land awkwardly on my knees, crashing on the hard earth below me.

My hands clutched my face, and I drew them back seeing dark, red blood already covering my palms entirely and creating a thick puddle. I didn't know what just happened, or felt anything really. Just numbness and shock. Staring at the blood puddle that was growing, I saw it was getting on my shirt and I could taste it on my lips. I gently brought my hands up to my face, and when my finger tips touched the bridge of my nose, I felt an abnormal dip on the side.

"You broke my nose!" I screamed to Dean.

Apparently no one else knew or was paying attention to what had happened until I screamed, except Dean – who looked horror stricken.

"I – I, Bec, I didn't –" Dean stuttered out, dropping the bow to the ground where it didn't even bounce. "You just stood up, it was an accident! I didn't mean to elbow you." He seemed frozen, like he didn't really know what to do or how to react.

"You elbowed her in the face and broke her nose?!" Sam gasped as he laughed while still holding the bow in one hand. He had a full smile on his face, all his teeth showing.

"Shut up, Sam!" Dean, our dad, and I all yelled at the same time.

"Let me see, Becca," my dad instructed as he came to kneel in front of me. "Dean, go grab the first aid kit from the car. Sam, bring over napkins, and one of those sodas." Both brothers immediately moved to do as they were told. "This is gonna hurt," he told me as he put a palm on either side of my face. I felt him gently tapping his thumbs against my nose as he tried to find the right placement. "Do you need something to squeeze?" he asked.

I nasally responded with a "_No_" as Sam stuck a handful of napkins into my blood soaked hands. My dad nodded and told me to keep my eyes locked on his. Then he counted to three and a loud crunch sounded, and a sharp ache stemmed from my nose. I allowed a cry of pain to pass from my lips, and instinctively slapped away his hands. I immediately wanted to touch my nose to feel for myself that it was fixed. It almost felt like it wasn't even there anymore. My entire face just throbbed and hurt.

"Becca, don't," my dad ordered as he took the kit from Dean's outstretched hand. He was peeling that white tape into smaller strips from the roll and took a piece of hard but moldable something he'd found from somewhere, and tried to roll it and create a curve in the otherwise straight piece. He wrapped a few cloth bandages around it for padding and then gently stuck it on my face, taping it down. "This is gonna be uncomfortable, but will help," he assured me as he made sure it was properly situated. Then he used some wet wipes to start cleaning my small hands in his large, calloused ones. "You're gonna have some pretty bad bruising, and that cast will have to stay on 24/7 for probably over week or two, but you'll be okay. If it doesn't get better, we'll take you into the hospital or something."

Nodding my head, I bit my lip, but didn't move. I didn't even know if I wanted to cry. I felt the sting of tears on my rims, but the pain didn't cause them. I didn't know what they were from or what the proper response was. Instead I just watched as he finished up cleaning my hands. After he'd wiped the blood off my face and helped me stand, he gave me cotton balls and instructed I put them in my nose while he dumped out one of the baggies in the first aid kit and filled it with ice from the soda. Slowly, I did as I was told before he gently placed the baggie of ice against my face.

Sam, Dean, and our dad cleaned up everything and we headed back towards the car, me slowly walking while carrying the makeshift ice pack against my face with one hand and bag of burgers in the other.

"I didn't mean it," Dean told me as he slowed down to walk next to me. "It was an accident."

"Yeah right," my words were hard to understand beneath the "cast" and "ice pack". "You probably thought that I was too cute and wanted to make me ugly!" I argued. It sounded like something he would do to me. And after Dean's super spying missions he'd done after Joshua kissed me, he said it was his mission to make sure no one ever touched me or ever did anything to me again... or wanted to.

Dean rolled his eyes at my dramatics. "If anything, me breaking your nose made you better looking."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I caught a small smile on my dad's face as he put things away into the trunk while he listened to our usual back and forth comments. Sam was already in the car waiting, eager to separate himself from anything that related to hunting or practicing. Dean was giving me this stupid smirk, like he thought he was cool or right or something, but he really just looks like a cocky jerk. And he's not even funny.

"I hope Sam put a real worm in your burger," I growled before getting in the car and closing the door behind me.

Dean froze for a minute, not really understanding what I'd told him as I buckled up. Then he quickly whipped open the door to yell at me when Dad cut him off.

"Dean, I wanna get back to the motel and get your sister some pain meds. Stop pickin' on her and bring that box over here so I can close this thing."

Dean growled at me and Sam before slamming the door shut once more. Sam looked at me and we immediately started to laugh. "Ow, ow, it hurts to laugh!" I whined, holding the bag of ice against my face with a little more pressure. Sam grimaced, feeling bad as he looked at the pain I was in. "So, what'd you do to his burger?" I whispered when we heard the trunk slam and their feet crunching around the sides of the car as Dean and our dad walked to their doors.

We looked over our shoulders before he shot me a full grin. "Nothin'. Dad came over and then Dean elbowed you before I could even do anything. But now he's gonna freak thinking that we did!" he told me before we both started laughing again, earning sharp eyes from Dean as he settled into the seat and shut the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**So sorry that it has been so long since I updated, and then I updated this instead of ****_My Twist to the Winchester Tale_****, so I suppose I need to apologize for that, too! I really have been busy though, honest. I'm not exaggerating. If you need verification, there are people I can send you to for validation. Or check my Twitter. I've been ranting about it on there, too. I cannot even make up half the stuff that has been going on in my life.**

**I'm so glad so many you have enjoyed this story so far! You don't even know how scared I was to post it. Talk about a dilemma. But, I have had multiple confirmations that I should continue, so here I am.**

**For this chapter, it is in 3rd person, and I did that for 2 reasons.  
1. Becca's age is very young in this chapter, and I don't know about you, but I don't really know what goes through the mind of someone at that age anymore. So I changed it.  
2. I wanted to practice my detailing. With ****_My Twist_**** I do a lot more of a "story telling" type of story instead of a real "narrative" or whatever. So, I am really hoping to have done well with this.**

**Also, for the way that each character acts in this chapter, I have based Becca, Sam, and Dean all off of children that I, myself, babysit at these same ages. I tried to match these three children with those specific 3-4 children, while also keeping the canon personalities in tact. I don't know if I did that well. I hope you can find all of what I wrote to be believable.**

**There is an area I am still uncertain about, so I hope that doesn't show through as you read it. Please, be sure to let me know what you like/dislike about this chapter - BECAUSE it is so different from the past ones. If you think certain areas need further detailing, be sure to let me know so that I can fix them and put them to where they need to be!**

**Thank you to all of you who reviewed and added this story to your alerts. You blew my mind, really. I didn't expect any response at all for these, and you are all just amazing. I owe you so much.  
And extra thanks to Jenmm31 and sweetkiwi604 for helping me out. Be sure to check out all of their stories, guys! They're great reads.**

**READ. REVIEW. ENJOY. :)**

**Disclaimer.**

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**Late Night Secret Swapping**

**Ages:  
Dean: 8  
****Sam/Becca: 4**

**Year:  
1987; Late Winter**

**3****rd**** person POV**

Lydia walked around the edge of the bed, using her short fingers to tuck a piece of mousy brown hair behind the rim of her ear. She sighed out an exhausted breath and slowly moved, barely lifting her cotton covered feet off of the brown shag carpet that seemed to emit a small puff of dust and odor of mildew each time someone put pressure into it. Stopping and pressing her upper thigh against the dulled and repeatedly indented edge of the end table that stood between the two queen beds, she stuck her head under the lamp that was bolted to the wall, and searched for small plastic knob. Clicking the instrument two times, she shut the light off before it turning it on again, leaving it to sit at the dimmest setting it had. Standing back up to her full height that wasn't much taller than the headboard of each bed, she put on a weary smile while she absentmindedly rested a hand on the top of the brunette head that passed by her midsection before struggling to crawl into the bed and lay down beside her twin. "I don't feel good," the voice that came out of the little girl's mouth was small and more of a whine than a full complaint. Waiting for Becca to turn from her knees to her back, Lydia reached to the middle of the bed and drew up the stiff sheet and scratchy blanket with one swift movement of her left hand before dropping it underneath where Becca's arms were waiting, upraised in the air. Sticking her fingertips against the fabric of the brown cover, Lydia pressed hard enough to create a shallow indent and then ran her hands down the length of Becca's body, sufficiently tucking the child into place.

Making a face and frowning, Lydia furrowed her brows while sweeping her light gray eyes over the little girl's face and other exposed areas of skin for an immediate sign of physical discomfort or trauma that would explain the previous comment. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, her hooded eyes looked into the bright, vibrant green eyes that almost seemed too big for such a small human. A lower, bright pink lip was jutted out past its upper half, and its color matched round cheeks that contrasted against an otherwise paler complexion. Brown hair hung in thick sections that had developed from a lack of brushing and large amount of free movement throughout the duration of the day, some pieces overlapping and covering part of her face. Not finding any visual upset, Lydia lifted a brow and played along and made sure to sound concerned enough that Becca would continue on and maybe explain just what it was that was really upsetting her. "You don't?!" Lydia pressed. "What's wrong?" she questioned while placing her hands on her hips and standing up to look down on the child.

Becca curled up a small fist and pressed it tightly against her eye while her opposite hand clutched at the torn and fraying satin ribbon that ran along and bordered the edge of the blanket. "My tummy hurts," the voice came through as a quiet plea, as though she was almost afraid that by confessing her pain, she would have been in trouble and swiftly punished.

Feeling her heart squeeze just a bit, Lydia stuck out her own painted lower lip and leaned down to stroke her fingers through the brunette pieces and tangles of hair. Smiling faintly, Lydia rubbed her thumb along Becca's cheek, trying to relax her. "Well, you try and get some sleep, okay? Maybe when you wake up, your tummy won't hurt anymore," she tried. Removing her hand standing back up, Lydia prepared herself to step away from the three young children that were all plagued with slowly drooping lids and faint lavender colored circles around each eye. She was ready to drop into one of the cheap, wooden chairs that barely allowed someone to properly sit at the table shoved against the peeling orange wall. She could read a book, or maybe watch the television quietly, or maybe even lay her head down and drift off into her own slumber. Each drew her in with some sort of happiness, and she felt an internal tug towards the chair.

Before she could make a single move, something in the air switched, and it was as though Lydia had suddenly said something unbelievably horrible instead of her words of attempted reassurance. Becca's chin immediately wrinkled as it bounced up and down, causing her bottom lip to tremble tremendously. Her bright, forest colored eyes welled up with thick tears and large drops began to fall off the edge of her rims where they clung to her cheeks before sliding down and then dripping off the line that defined her jaw. Becca's eyes then clenched shut as her small frame appeared to want to bend in half with each twitch that came from the loud, cough-like sobs that were suddenly filling the whole room. "I want my daddy," Becca wailed through the tears before the sobs progressed.

It was at this time that Sam turned over from his right side and pulled himself up on to his knees staring saucer eyed up to Lydia – whose mouth had formed a small "o" at the sudden eruption. The blankets gathered around Sam's knees where he was readjusting himself in the newly forming indents in the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress. "I think you should call my daddy," he suggested in a loud voice, so as to be heard over the cries of his sister beside him. He was lightly entwining the backs of his knuckles with one another so that all of his fingers crossed and pointed towards his chest, as though here were unsure of his own actions. But his voice gained excitement and volume as he continued the chant. Sam looked beside him to where Becca was laying, cheeks growing red, forehead wrinkled, and a hand stuffed near her mouth. She continued to allow the cough like sobs to fill her, and his own face fell and his bottom lip stuck out as tears soon began to well up along the rims of his tired, hazel eyes as well.

Lydia's face formed a deep frown as she took in the sight before her. Sam's chants were growing choppier and choppier as his own words began to slur and break apart due to his quivering lips and soft cries. One crying child was certainly enough for Lydia at this point. Running around after the three of them in this one small area might seem like an easy feat, but it was definitely not. Fights had broken out, high pitched screams erupted, nosey children were digging through things that she had been specifically told were off limits, eight year boys were acting like eighteen year old boys and giving her grief while also partially respecting her. It was enough to make her want to scream herself. She didn't need, or want, two children to be crying right now. "Your daddy said to only call him if it was an emergency," she huffed out, clear to herself that she was annoyed and waiting for her endless hours of babysitting to end. Sam's sympathy tears slowed as he used the heel of his palm to wipe tears from against his eyes. He looked up to Lydia as though he was expecting her to continued on with more while Becca continued to cry beside him and Dean was beginning to move and pull himself up into a sitting position on his own bed. "A tummy ache isn't an emergency," Lydia lightly scolded all three of them when she realized she would now have to struggle with putting back all three children.

Making her way around the foot of the twins' bed, Lydia picked up Sam and laid him down on the mattress so that he was facing the ceiling and her face. She tucked him in like she had his sister, although she knew that she had possibly done it a bit more roughly than she intended. Sam allowed for Lydia's attempt in resettling him, but his assurance that his father be called picked back up as well as the small flow of tears. "Daddy will think it's 'mergency," he announced through a small break in his lips. He nodded his head as though he believed in his own words, and he watched Lydia move back to stand between the beds, without moving from his spot.

Becca's cries grew louder and more intense as both of her tiny fists curled tighter and pressed tightly against her eyes. Dean was eyeing Lydia with an obvious detest, and was in the process of crawling out of his own bed and squeezing himself in besides his younger sister. He was attempting to balance himself between Becca and the edge of the mattress as Lydia came to send beside him. "Shh, Becca," Dean whispered as he pulled the blanket over him and drew his sibling tightly to his chest. Becca rolled against her brother, but her cries did not subside with Dean's attempts to calm her down.

"I want my daddy!" Becca yelled loudly, yet the words were muffled by her mouth being against Dean's shirt.

Dean hugged her tighter to him and his eyes moved over to his brother when Sam sat back up and began reciting, "Daddy think it's 'mergency," and, "You shoul' call my daddy," over and over again as a louder demand while pointing to his twin and patting her head lazily with his semi sticky hand.

Frustration was bubbling up from deep inside of Lydia. They had been lying down nicely, and now it was like a fiasco had come sweeping in like a rough, cold wind on a stale, hot day. Becca's crying mixed with Sam's repetitive chants were tearing at her nerves. "No!" she finally exploded. Her left foot rose and collided with the ground so quickly that the action shocked even herself. "You guys, stop now! Sam, you lay back down and go to sleep," she instructed as she stomped around the bed once again, and hastily forced him down into a sleeping position. "Dean, you go back into your bed," she pointed a finger to the bed that lay in the distance that lay unmade. "And Becca," she finished, looking down at the little girl with anger, "you stop that crying. I'm not calling your daddy. It is time for bed, so you all need to go to sleep."

The only child that seemed to pay her any mind, was Sam, and that was clearly because of her forcing him to do as she had commanded. He did however close the distance between himself and his twin, as he tried to create a separation between him and Lydia. His eyes lowered, and his lip stuck out yet again, and Lydia rolled her eyes, feeling as though he was being dramatic at her reprimand. Dean looked over Becca's head to Sam's dejected form, and he lowered his small brows before looking up at Lydia with disdain. "Can I just stay here tonight? I promise I'll get her to stop," he told the sitter.

Noticing that Becca's sobs had in fact calmed down from before Dean had crawled in next to her, Lydia scrunched her lips up, not wanting to allow him to disregard her order. But, when Dean's eyes softened and he blinked up at her to show green, almond shaped orbs, her heart melted. He looked so sad, and broken, like this was the only thing possibly tying him down to the world at this exact moment. She immediately felt that if she separated the three of them, she'd be more than just breaking up this tension, and that Dean might just break, too. Running a hand through her hair and rolling her head back towards the ceiling, Lydia knew she had been played… and by an eight year old. "Fine!" she growled out, trying not to sound like she had truly lost. Lowering her head, and looking at Dean, she made sure he knew that she was limiting any control he tried to maintain. "But you all need to go to sleep. Do you understand me? If you don't, you're all being separated," she threatened with a bit of a waver in voice – knowing she really had no final say.

Dean seemed to completely ignore her the minute she gave in, and his head lowered so that he was focusing fully on his siblings once more. Sam was watching Dean's hand as it lightly landed on the crown of Becca's head and then slowly moved down to the end of her hair, and then repeated the process over and over. Sam then raised his own hand, and left it hovering in the air above Becca's hair as his eyes moved from Becca's head to Dean's eyes. Noticing the small hand, Dean looked over to his brother. "Wanna help me, Sammy?" Dean requested. Sam's face lit up the second that Dean uttered the words, and his head bobbed up and down quickly while he closed his mouth and swallowed slightly. Dean indicated for Sam to lower his hand, and soon there were two hands moving down the side of Becca's brunette hair, the smaller one following the lead of the bigger one. Lydia watched in amazement, and she found herself feeling guilty and ashamed of her prior actions. Clicking off the main lights to the motel room, she slowly sat down in one of the chairs at the table – satisfying the craving of relaxation that had been consuming her for over thirty-six hours. However, instead of picking up one of her books, or moving to turn on the television, she found herself watching the three children on the bed. Sam slumped down into the pillow beside his sister, and his eyes fought and fluttered to stay open before his hand lazily slowed and then ceased to move all together. Sam's inhales were drawing deeper and were mirrored by Becca's as the sobs died down and her tears stopped flowing, and her break down ended all together. "Good job, Sammy," Dean praised his younger sibling quietly, receiving a small smile before Sam completely gave into sleep.

Propping one elbow up onto the table and placing her chin in her palm, Lydia couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight. Dean continued to watch both of his sleeping siblings for a few more hours until he himself could no longer fight the fatigue that was drowning him.

* * *

Hours later the only light in the damp, darkened room was a dark hue from the television as John Winchester lazily leaned back in his chair and rested the back of his head against the window over the small table. The cool glass was a nice counteract to the heat that swelled inside. Sipping from a bottle of beer, he ran his tongue along the part in his lips to catch the last of the drops before he set the glass against the wood surface of the table, a rough noise sounding at the collision. He was exhausted, which really was no different from any other day he'd lived during the last four, almost five years, and he began to question if he would ever not be exhausted again. He felt his body slump in the chair, and his grip on the bottle loosened while his eyes closed and lingered there for a brief moment. Just as he felt his body relaxing is when he heard the soft sound of bare feet slowly creeping across the old, moth eaten carpet that emitted a wet, damp smell of mold and old dust that hadn't been stirred up in months and almost seemed to indent the fibers with each step. Making sure to be alert, but not make any movements, he waited patiently for a further sound, but there was none. The uneasiness in the air didn't dissipate, and before he burst from the tension, John slowly opened one eye before he fully opened both and looked towards the beds where a small girl stood with hair plastered to her face from sweat. She was rubbing an eye, and biting her lip, and sniffing back an incoming tear. John watched as her eyes seemed to fight to stay open while she swayed on her feet and continued to not make any noise. "Becca, what're you doin' up?" he croaked past his tired voice in a calm manner as he sat up straighter and tightened the grip he'd lost on his bottle.

"My tummy hurts," she mumbled out quietly, not moving from her spot.

John eyed her, unable to seriously assess if there was a problem. He motioned for her to come to him and then hoisted her up onto his lap. Trading the grip on his bottle for one on his daughter, John wrapped an arm around Becca and secured her to him. Next, he brought up his other rough, calloused hand and covered her entire forehead with his palm, feeling a more than natural warmth between their touching skins. Then, sweeping his hand back, he dragged her hair away from her face as he hummed out a questioning tone. His eyes scanned over her face as he did his best to gauge the color of her cheeks in the television's light.

Becca made a face as tears began to rim her eyes. "I think I'm gonna throwed up," she cried to him as her hand shot back up to her eye.

John immediately moved, knowing that by saying those words, the action would soon follow. Just as he raised the toilet seat and lid and smacked them against the sweating tank with a loud "_crack_", Becca emptied the contents of her stomach into the stained bowl. Readjusting his grip around her waist, John managed to gather all of her thick hair into one large hand, and he grimaced as she continued to cough and sputter. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and he pulled her up when he heard clear sobs coming from her. Hitting the handle, John then focused on his daughter, lifting her up he gently set her on the cracked bathroom counter. Wetting a thin, motel provided washcloth, he wrung it out before wiping it on her forehead and cheeks, and then cleaning the dirtied area around her mouth. "Feelin' any better?" he asked, dropping the rag into the sink behind her.

Becca hung her head and shook it while she stared at her knees. "Do I has cooties?" Her voice was so quiet that John almost missed what she said completely.

John had to tilt his head at the words. He felt as though he'd misheard her completely and didn't quite know how to respond to it. "What?" he sharply questioned.

A large inhale filled Becca's small frame, raising her shoulders as she prepared herself for the explanation. "Dean, Dean said girls gots cooties, and that, and that they make peep, peep, us sick!" she announced while wiping the back of her hand under her nose.

Shaking his head, a small smile graced John's face and his eyes lit up for a small moment. "No," he answered her. "You don't have cooties."

"Promised?"

"Promise," he assured her with a swipe of his thumb across her cheek as he removed the last of her tears.

As Becca lifted up her head to show her father her own smile, her hands shot up to her mouth and her cheeks puffed out before her body lurched and her stomach sent a burning warmth up her throat and into her hands where it seeped between her fingers and onto not only herself, but also onto her father's shoes as he jumped back instinctively.

Trying to calm his daughter down, John plucked her off of the sink and moved her into the tub before turning on the water and removing her clothes. Cleaning up both Becca, and himself, John drained the tub and wrapped a worn towel around her before picking her up and walking back out into the main area of the motel room. Redressing Becca, and cleaning up all of their mess, he gathered her in his arms, and then sat down in one of the chairs at the table, setting her on his knee. Picking up his earlier discarded bottle, he took a long sip and felt his body relax as Becca yawned.

"And I don't has cooties," she repeated while moving her head to look up at her father's prickly, unshaved chin.

"No. You don't have cooties," he told her through a sigh while his body twisted with the motion of him finally able to kick off his shoes.

"Daddy…" Becca trailed off, fixing her face so that her chin was tightly tucked against his chest. She stared forward to where her brothers were still laying in the bed, facing each other. "I think I gots a secret to tell you. But you can't tell Dean… I think the cooties gots Dean, like those, those spots on his face," he spilled out.

Chuckling at her innocence, John pulled Becca to him tighter and adjusted the blanket he'd grabbed to drape over her. "Try and get some sleep, Becs, all right?"

Becca complied and nodded her head, wanting to do what her dad told her. "Hey, Daddy?" she croaked.

"Mmm?" John mumbled as he felt his own eyes drooping and Becca snuggled in closer to him, feeling a sense of protection just by having him hold her. It was a small gesture that neither of them really knew they needed again until it was happening. He provided her a feeling like nothing could ever harm her, while she reminded him of innocence and youth that he felt the world around him lost when reality came to surface all those years ago.

"How comes you gots that scary book with all dem mon-" she cut herself off with a yawn and a splayed hand over her open mouth, "-sters in it?"

John's eyes snapped open and his body tensed up against his daughter, before he slowly addressed the question. His hand that was against her leg, holding her to him, patted her leg lightly, as if it were unsure how to react. "What book are you talkin' about?"

Squirming against his suddenly tighter hold, Becca wriggled arms from being pinned. "The one in one of your bags. I saw, I saw all the scary pictures in there, and they looked like dem monsters on the telebision. You knows, the _scary_ ones. Are those the bad guys you was talkin' 'bout you shoots wif your gum?"

Dragging over another chair with his hand, John moved Becca so that she was now sitting in front of him and facing him directly. "What were you doing in my bag?" he lightly scolded with a tone that told her even then, at such a young age, that he expected answers, and he expected them to be honest.

Her bottom lip started to tremble, already knowing that she was going to be in some sort of trouble. She knew going through his bag was wrong, and Dean had reminded her of that earlier, only for them both to be yelled at by Lydia who snatched the bag away quickly after Dean stuffed the book back into it. "I was lookin' for, for Fuzzles," she squeaked out, trying to show him she was sorry for not listening. "I 'membered you said he was in one of your, of your bags, 'n I founded your book."

Closing his eyes for a moment, John inwardly cursed himself for not making sure that he had remembered to take the book, or even the bag. Or if he had even been a little bit more careful in making sure that her damn stuffed sheep had been either in her hands or in her own bag before they left the last motel, none of this would have happened. He had done this to himself. His mouth dropped before he opened his eyes and leaned forward in his chair. "You stay out of my bags from now on, okay? If you need something from one of my bags, you tell me. Understand?"

Becca nodded her head, looking down, guilt clear across her entire face. "I sorry I looked at your book, Daddy…" she spoke quietly. "Is those the bad guys you talked 'bout?" she asked as she raised her head back up to look into his tired, low lidded eyes.

John eyed her, trying to recall that particular conversation. "What bad guys are you talkin' about, Becca?"

"'Member, 'member, when I founded your, your gum that, you said, 'member, Daddy, you, you said that, that it was yours an', 'n I was nots t' touch it, 'cause you, you said it was, it was, you said it was for protextin' 'gainst bad guys."

Puffing out a breath, John looked confused for a moment before he nodded as the conversation replayed in his mind. "Yeah, I remember," he gruffly sighed out while rubbing his hands up and down his face abrasively. Stopping, he leaned his forearms on his knees and grabbed his daughter's hands, and made sure she was looking directly at him. "Becca, look at me," he instructed drawing her big, bright eyes to his brown ones. He paused for a moment, seeming to have an internal battle as to whether he should be having this conversation or not. "Monsters aren't real, Becca."

Immediately nodding her head up and down, Becca's eyes went round. "Uh huh! Monsters are real, Daddy. And Dean said, Dean said that you're, you're like a superhero! And superheroes stop the monster bad guys! If you're a superhero, then, then, then you fights monsters."

"Listen," he stopped her rant, needing her to focus on reality and not on pretend heroes. "I do what I have to, to keep you, and Dean –"

"And Sammy?"

"And Sammy," he agreed. "All of you. It is my job to keep you three safe. I go out there to stop whatever I can so that it can't get you or your brothers. That's what I do when I'm not here… Does that make sense?"

Becca watched him closely, allowing his deep voice to sink into her small head. It was as though John could see the wheels in her head spinning as her eyes slowly, and barely, shifted to the bottom left corner and bottom lip separated from her top, and the smallest indent formed at the space between the inside points of her brows. "You stops the bad guys?" a small smile graced his face at her small understanding. "Is that, is that why you has your gum? 'Cause only daddies can shoots a gum?"

"Rebecca," he quipped, drawing her eyes and ears immediately to attention while he tightened his hold on her small hands and slightly shook them. "Did you tell Dean or Sammy about the book?"

"Dean catched me and told me not to look at it," she answered honestly, not breaking her eyes away from his.

"He's right," John agreed. "And what about Sam? Did you tell him?"

Shaking her head, Becca's eyes went wide with her answer. "You said, you said we're not 'posed to tell Sammy about this stuffs 'til we talks to you. Dean told me not to tell Sammy 'n I didn't tell Sammy."

"Good," John sighed out a small relief. "Becca, I'm going to tell you a secret now, okay? And you have to promise not to tell your brothers. If you tell Sammy or Dean, I'll be _very_ upset with you."

Becca's eyes widened with shock, and her small face lit up immensely. Pride swelled inside her entire body and filled her with a joy she couldn't even suppress. "I can keep a secret!" she exclaimed, practically jumping off of her seat. "I won't tell!"

"All right," John moved his hands to keep her still, holding her firmly to her spot on the seat. "That gun, that you're not supposed to touch, does stop the monster bad guys. And I do protect you, and Dean –"

"And Sammy."

"And Sammy. Yes. When I am not here, I am fighting the monsters in that book you found. But, you need to really listen now. I have to fight those monsters, okay? To protect you. But, I can only really protect you if you do as I say, okay? Can you do that? Can you help Daddy to keep you safe?"

Becca looked at her father, completely confused at his request. "You needs _my_ help?" John nodded, playing into her questioning while leaning back in his chair. "Oh yeah. If you help me, it will make it easier for me to protect you. And you will be helping me to protect Dean and Sammy, too."

Looking over her shoulder to where her brothers were now each spread across the mattress, hands stuck to faces, and feet kicked out of blankets, a mess of limbs and sheets. "Dean _and_ Sammy?" she whispered disbelievingly.

"Yep, but you gotta keep it a secret," John announced before bringing his beer to his lips.

Becca turned back to face her father and nodded her head so quickly that her hair was bouncing frantically on the ends. "I wanna help, Daddy, let me help!"

John smiled a genuine smile at his daughter. Seeing her handle all of this so well, and accepting that he needed to do it released some tight hold that been gripping the inside of him. It was almost nice to have the truth out there, even if it was with a four year old who seemed to never forget anything he ever told her. He placed his bottle on the table and pulled her off her separate chair and back onto his lap before picking up his feet and using the second chair as a foot rest. "You can help me, Becca. But right now, it's time for you to go to sleep," he told her as he wrapped his arms around her and leaned back in his chair, fully prepared to sleep there if necessary.

"Hey, Daddy," Becca whispered up to him just as he was drifting off into sleep. He hummed out a responsive tone, indicating for her to continue. "Did the monsters put the cooties on Dean's face?"

His body twitched against hers as a chuckle deep within his chest erupted. "No," he answered simply.

"Good," Becca seemed relieved before she snuggled deeper into her father's chest and lap, happy just to have him holding her. "'Cause Daddy? I likes Dean. Even if he does have cooties."

"I like Dean, too," John responded before squeezing her to him tightly and placing a kiss on the top of her head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ah, my little lovelies, how I adore each and every one of you. I am so sorry if you are sad because I updated this instead of ****_My Twist_****, but since I just finished the episode on there, I wanted to take a wee bit of a break. It's actually way harder than I anticipated. I mean, having to load transcripts and making sure that Becca fits in there without just having her be some shadow, sidebar... thing - it's really a lot tougher than I anticipated. Therefore, I may or may not upload a few for ****_Baby Becca_**** chapters before I get to the other story. I am able to get on to much more of a roll when it comes to these, because once the idea develops, it's all me. There's not aligning and stuff like that.**

**THANK YOU to all of you who have read/reviewed/added this story. You make me scream with happiness. You're the best, nicest, sweetest people in the world, and I love you.**

**So, I had a different chapter in mind, and then the amazing SPNxBookworm asked if she could request a chapter, and I was beyond shocked she wanted to do so. Thus, this chapter was born.  
And then! she gave me the best idea ever and said I could take a page from the book that is her awesomeness. We have mutually agreed that by doing this, I won't be a full on skeez who steals all her ideas. She recommended that I take on reader requests and try to build chapters that way - almost as a challenge, which is genius.  
Bring it on, people! If you have a request, please feel free to PM them to me. I would love to hear what you want to read - that way I do a way better job than just coming up with it all by myself.**

**SPNxBookworm's request:**_I'd love to see cute 4 or 5 year old Becca. Just a lot of cuteness and adorableness! A cute Sammy in the picture won't be too bad as well! :D Cute Sammy and Becky...yup. That's my request. Sorry, I'm not being more elaborate...but I'd like to know what she was like as a toddler :)_

**Now, I don't know if I** **_totally_**** got a bunch of cuteness and adorableness in here, but this is what I came up with. Sorry if it sucks. Let me know, and I can definitely fix it. I tried to base Becca's toddler ways off of toddlers I am often around, so I hope it is realistic... eek.**

**Also, it's in 3rd person (again) because, even if I am a bit childish, I don't think I can channel my inner toddler as much as would be necessary. Finally, I changed up the end a little bit beyond what we'd agreed on, but I felt like it needed to be done - I don't know why, but it's where I ended up, so I stuck with it.**

**READ. REVIEW. ENJOY. :)**

**Disclaimer.  
Song: _Lookin' Out My Backdoor _- Creedence Clearwater Revival**

* * *

**Babies in the Backseat**

**Ages:**  
**Dean - 8**  
**Sam/Becca - 4**

**Year: **  
**1987; Late Spring**

**3****rd**** Person POV**

The air was thick, and heavy with moisture that seemed to settle in the space between the ground and the earth's atmosphere. It hung in the air and draped itself over everything between the motel and quickest way out of town. The humidity seemed to fully engulf you when stepping into it, causing the first inhale to be deep and fill not only your lungs, but also your mouth with a stickiness that caused you to smack your tongue in hopes of having it freed from the momentary bind.

The flat, newly paved, black highway cut through the heart of Nebraska and would lead straight to the interstate, after a few hours of course. Golden waves of some sort of grain shined and bounced the high sun's rays off of one stalk, onto the next, all the way back and across the fields that ran along the paved path. Random smatterings of bright, green tree tops rose into the sky as though reaching out to try and touch the clouds that passed overhead. Grand houses seemed small as they were lying in the far distance, almost grayed out in color and sharpness.

Nothing moved outside of the light shifting across the sky and the few birds that chirped and hopped over the freshly planted seeds of one farm. The stretch of black top did not often receive many visitors. It almost laid there like an unknown treasure to the few that knew of its existence. It was because so few drove down the highway, that when the gleaming, black Impala sped past, the birds scattered in a disarray of feathers and squawks as they ascended into the air.

The Impala cut down the lane, well over the speed limit, and continued on as a lone arm rested on the base of an open window, while fingers lightly gripped the wheel. John Winchester was leaned back against the front seat, his right arm stretched out and resting along the top of the bench. Next to him was a young boy who was determined to try and figure out the toy in his hands.

Dean's head was bent and his tongue was pressed so tightly into his cheek, it looked as though a hole would appear at any moment. Strands of his ever darkening blonde hair continued to fall into his eyes, making him shake his head out of irritation. He knew he could do it. A class mate had showed him how, not even two hours ago. He was sure he'd watched correctly, and he knew how to pay close attention. He would make this tank transform into Hardhead if it took him all night.

In the back seat, behind his older brother, Sam sat, tightly buckled in, playing with some green army men. They were at war in his mind, and the left hand was drastically down in numbers, without a chance to recover. As the right hand rose in the air, Sam followed through with his own sound effects as well as motions. Most of the little, plastic figures were lost somewhere on the floor between the seats. Sam's legs dangled above them, and after he'd worked so hard to try and collect the toys, he eventually gave up when his father convinced him that they were soldiers missing in action. Sam was fully prepared to rescue every last one of the men when the car stopped at a gas station or something.

Across the seat, tucked against the bench behind her father, was Becca. Her feet barely hung off the edge of the seat while her large eyes gazed upward to the window. She sat contently, watching large bundles and pillows of clouds pass overhead, some creating distinguishable shapes. Face framing strands of hair danced around in the breeze from her father's open window, and a stuffed lamb was squished between her stomach and arm.

Upbeat music was playing and growing closer and closer to Becca's favorite part with each passing second. Her eyes lit up and a smile broke out on her face when the music grew just a little louder. John leaned back in his seat from adjusting the volume, and he watched in the rear-view mirror to see his daughter's head tipping left and right to the beat of the tune. It was one of the small things he still held onto as a sign of innocence in her life and allowed it to fill him with a happiness that didn't seem to be present in his life as much anymore. The way the music always seemed to excite his daughter or stop her in her tracks and put a smile on her face was something he hoped she never lost. He hoped she kept that feeling forever; allowing that one blissful moment, where nothing else seemed to matter to her because at that second, everything to her was perfect. It was like a salvation that would release her of any pain she had. He had always noticed the way that they music seemed to fill her, consume her – _become_ her… He wished he could hold on to that for her.

John watched expectantly, and then her voice filled the car, making him smile whole heartedly. Sam snapped his eyes over to where Becca continued to look through the window as though the words weren't even coming from her.

"Doo, doo, doo… back door," she rang out, not knowing all of the words – but confident in the three she did. Her head continued to tip back and forth as the repetitive "doo, doo, doo… back door," sounded around them.

Almost jealous at Becca's enjoyment, Sam attempted to join her, singing, "doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo," completely off-key and to absolutely no rhythm what-so-ever.

"Nooooo," Becca whined, ignoring the rest of the song while she turned to face her twin. "Tha's, tha's not right," she lightly scolded him with a shake of her head.

"Uh huh!" Sam defensively argued back. His army men were tightly clenched in his fist and his eyes were narrowing at his sudden and slight embarrassment. Sam Winchester did _not_ enjoy being told he was wrong.

Continuing to shake her head, Becca was determined to show him he was wrong. "'S, 'doo, doo, doo… back door', Sammy," she told him. "You 's jus' sayin', 'doo, doo, doo, doo, doo,'."

Sam was quickly losing interest in the debate as the cassette changed over into the next song, and went back to the toys that he was holding so tightly they were indenting his skin. Turning away from his sister, and back to his toys, he heard Becca announce to the car, "I has t' go potty," and found himself quickly agreeing that they should stop as soon as possible.

John sighed. They'd only been on the road for a little over two hours, and he had hoped that their distance be farther before he had to pull over. They'd never make it to Bobby's by his established goal time if they were already making stops.

"Can you hold it?" he questioned. He already knew the answer, though. Becca didn't say she needed to do something unless she had to do it. If she said she was sleepy, she'd be asleep in less than five minutes. If she said she was going to be sick, she'd need a bucket. If she said she had to pee, you better get her to a bathroom.

"I gots t' go now," she whined as she began to bounce up and down in her seat and look towards the rear-view mirror with pleading eyes.

Sitting up straight, John quickly looked ahead of him, in hopes that there would be a rest stop, somewhere in the wide open Nebraska landscape. To his dismay, there wasn't. A couple hundred yards ahead laid a grouping of trees, and right now that would make as good a bathroom as any. Pressing down on the gas pedal, John quickly moved down the highway before pulling off to the side of the road. Getting out of the front seat, he worked his way to the back door already feeling like he'd dove into a pool from the humidity that swelled around him.

"Boys," he barked as he un-clicked Becca's belt, "you stay in the car. Dean, watch your brother." Satisfied with Dean's nod of a head, John grabbed Becca and headed into the trees.

When they were far enough in, but close enough to watch the car, John set his daughter down and told her to step behind a tree. Squirrels and chipmunks scattered into their safety zones, high within the deep green canopy; putting a smile on Becca's face. "Daddy, look at the squirrels!" she exclaimed while clapping her hands.

John looked at where she indicated. "I thought you had to go to the bathroom, Becca."

"I do!" she squeaked before running behind the tree. She had gone to the bathroom enough times in the woods that she knew how to master this unique skill. But not without the occasional accident. "Daddy?" Becca called out sheepishly.

Grimacing, John stepped to where she was crouched down behind the tree, to see bright red cheeks and small hands holding wet underwear. Sighing, he plucked her up, and situated her so her dress was fully covering her. Walking back to the car, and popping the trunk, he dug through Becca's bag, only for her to inform him that every pair of underwear she had, were dirty. Closing his eyes and trying to muffle a growl, John internally cursed his lack of doing laundry during their past stay, and ultimately decided that this trip – just like everything else in his life – wasn't working out to his benefit at all. Quickly doing the math, he decided to press on, and do his best to keep further accidents from occurring. Closing the lid of the trunk, he looked up at his daughter's face when she began tapping his shoulder.

"Those are the biggest squirrels I ever seed, Daddy," she whispered through an astounded breath.

Turning to face the field that Becca was pointing to, he laughed. "Becca," he smiled at her while gazing at the large animals that were watching them closely, "those are called deer."

Becca stared in wonder at the new discovery. "Deer?" she gasped quietly as her father chuckled at her amazement and then went back towards the front of the car to buckle her in.

"Sammy!" she practically shouted once John was securing her. "I just seed a deer!"

Sam looked at her as John shut the door and then opened his own. "Wass a deer?" he asked, completely curious by the unknown fact just thrust upon him.

"Giant squirrels!" she exclaimed as she tucked her stuffed lamb into the side of her leg. "And they was eating grass, and watchin' me and Daddy! They're big as the 'mpala!"

Sam's mouth dropped open as he looked to the front of the car briefly. "Whoa," he gasped, "I didn't know that squirrels get that'd big! Daddy!" he yelled, trying to make sure John knew that Sam hadn't known. "Daddy, I didn't know that'd squirrels got big as the 'mpala!"

Dean rolled his head up and back. Setting his transformer onto the seat next to him, he turned as much as he could to face his siblings. "Squirrels don't get as big as the Impala, Sammy!"

Becca faced her eldest brother. "Uh huh, Dean! I seed it! Daddy says they was deer!"

"Deer aren't squirrels," Dean laughed, causing his sister to whine out to their father in protest.

"Becca, those weren't squirrels, they were deer," John sighed, settling into his seat as they sped down the highway.

"Then what is they!" she demanded, looking to Dean as if it were a challenge. Before he could answer, though, the Impala passed by a pasture littered with cows, and a strong odor that assaulted the thick, warm, unmoving air. Scrunching up their faces, Becca and Sam simultaneously clapped their hands over their small noses and squealed out matching "eww"s.

Neither twin removed their hands as they looked at one another; yet, they both knew the other had a large grin on their face. "Who farted?!" Sam yelled through a giggle.

Becca kicked her legs happily as the laughter consumed her. "Dean!" she shrieked, causing a wave of deep laughter to fill the car from her and her brother.

Dean, who had gone back to trying to master the transforming toy, spun around on the bench while slamming the side of his fist into the seat, glaring as angrily as an eight year old could. "I did not!" he boomed heatedly.

Sam nodded his head in protest. "I can _smell_ it," he stated, drawing out the word smell – as though he knew it would upset Dean more.

"I did not!" Dean repeated with a harder force. "It's the cows."

"Hahaha!" Becca laughed, looking at Sam. "Dean's a cow!"

Sam sputtered and laughed harder before looking at an irate Dean and going, "Moooooooo," in his face.

The twins laughed harder and were on the verge of falling over as their cheeks turned various shades of purple and red.

"All right, that's enough!" John's deep voice abruptly cut through the air, immediately causing all other noise outside of the engine and purring of the Impala to cease from making a sound. "You two leave your brother alone, understand?"

The twins both nodded their heads and chanted out a, "Yes, Daddy," before hanging their heads in a mirrored fashion.

The rest of the drive was what could be considered mostly peaceful. As the previously determined four hour journey dragged into one that was closer to six due to numerous bathroom stops, and one lengthy food stop that resulted in more a game of tag than an actual sit down meal. For three extremely well behaved and regularly obedient children, the younger two managed to get into enough mischief to drive even the most patient person into insanity. After a quick temper flare of John's and two twins sobbing after being yelled at, the small troop was rounded back into the car where all three children were soon spread out and sleeping – giving John a soothing, finally quiet ride.

* * *

**Ages:**  
**Dean - 21**  
**Sam/Becca - 17**

**Year: **  
**2000; Mid-Summer**

**3rd Person POV**

Popping her gum, Becca curled her legs underneath her, and gripped the edge of the open window. Closing her eyes, she stuck her face in the wind as the Impala tore down the middle of the road. She was free, finally, from the stale, chipped walls of the Arkansas high school. Her summer was officially beginning, and the splashing wind across her skin only made her internal high sky rocket. She hoped it would be something that would last forever. Or at least until they made their way back to their father and had to begin a whole new set of orders and assignments. Inhaling deeply, a genuine, deep smile spread across her lips. The smell of wet dirt, aged pine, and what she could only determine to be sunshine, filled her.

Bringing herself back into the car, she settled into the corner of the seat and door and brought her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them, while watching the scenery pass by. Whipping her head around, she stared wide-eyed at the radio. "Dean, turn it up!" she exclaimed, leaning forward in the chair and shaking her brother's shoulder.

Shrugging off her abrupt motions, Dean leaned forward as to release her hold on him, and gave into her demands. Becca's grin grew and a sparkle entered her eyes. Bobbing her head, she settled her back against the door, and tapped her toes while leaning her head back on the edge of the open window, allowing her face to warm up in the sun, and her hair to fly around her wildly.

"A statue wearing high heels.  
Look at all the happy creatures dancing on the lawn.  
A dinosaur Victrola listening to Buck Owens.  
Doo, doo, doo, looking out my back door.  
Tambourines and elephants are playing in the band.  
Won't you take a ride on the flying spoon?"

"Doo, doo, doo," Sam quickly cut in, causing Becca to roll her large, green eyes. "See, I told you I was singing the song the right way," he winked at her as she pulled her head back into the car.

Rolling her eyes playfully, again, she collected all of her hair and shoved it into a messy ball on the top of her head. "No, you still sing it wrong," she teased. "You'd think after thirteen years, and growing a brain as big as yours, that you'd learn how to actually hold a tune."

Matching her lighthearted glare and puckered "angry" lips, Sam's eyes changed their focus over his brother when Dean scoffed and smirked happily. "Don't worry, Sammy, at least you know what a deer is," he assured his brother while turning his attention between the road and his siblings.

"I was four!" Becca retorted, looking at her brother, not even slightly surprised he totally remembered it. "And I'm still claiming it was a squirrel on steroids. His tail was a little _too_ bushy if you ask me."

"No, it's okay," Sam told his sister, gaining a look from both siblings. "Yeah, I mean, at least you have an excuse. You were four, and you'd never seen one before. Not like Dean," he finished.

Becca furrowed her brows while scratching at her scalp. "Wait… what?"

Dean turned to face his brother, also, before looking back at the road. "Yeah, what are you talkin' about, Sammy?" he curiously and skeptically inquired.

Sam's smile grew into a mischievous smirk before his eyebrows relaxed and he settled deeper into his seat. "Moo," he stated simply, as though the one sound would set off a bomb.

And it did. Becca broke into a fit of laughter, a happy, genuine laugh that rang throughout the car, bringing a smile to both of her brothers' faces. "Moooooo," she chortled, dragging the sound out as long as she could before she broke into more laughs.

"Shut it," Dean tried sounding stern, only to have a smile break through and make him seem less intimidating than he would have liked. When Sam began to join into Becca's never ending fit of giggles, Dean rolled his own eyes and turned up the radio, trying to drown out his siblings' mocking smiles as he pressed down harder on the gas pedal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ahh! Okay, I know this took forever. I knoooow don't yell at me. Okay, so like, I had this funeral, and then like, being there for family time, and then GISHWHES, and then more coping time, then a wedding, and lots of "wash it away with drinking" time, and then out of town family was sprinkled in there with a big dose of cookouts and going broke and I can't even put gas in my car right now guys, and now there's ANOTHER funeral and more out of town family and like, labor day, and school starts soon and I mean, hello, Harley's 110th is coming up NEXT WEEKEND AND I MEAN, DUH, and like, I'VE BEEN BEYOND SWAMPED DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU ALL RIGHT NOW?!**

**Sorry. I do that sometimes.  
Now that I have ranted though. I do apologize for the delay. I have been quite busy and I have really been trying to get this prompt out because it was a request.  
Before I dive in, I want to thank all of you who PMed or contacted me about my baby cousin's passing. You guys made me cry with your compassion and generosity - really. I couldn't believe how many of you cared so much. You're the absolute definition of what a human being should be. You warmed every part of my heart and soul, and I cannot express my love or gratitude enough.**

**If you would ever like to contact me, I do have all the cool social media outlets. Okay, they're really just addictions I pretend to be cool.**  
**Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, guys! Follow me! Every handle is "babyhandasaurus". I just like, have some small hands guys. I mean, really. If you're trying to add me and I don't respond or something, I might be like, "Um, okay stranger danger on FB," so like, just follow me or message me telling me who you are.**  
**PLEASE RESPECT THAT THESE ARE MY PERSONAL PAGES. Like, my family is on the stuff, too, all right? No back sassing and shenanigans like that. I will block you and I will not apologize. If you don't want to add my personal stuff, that's cool. Hit me up on here, or maybe I'll make a fan page. Who knows. Persuade me.**

**Onto the chapter. This lovely piece was requested by** sweetkiwi604**who is an absolute doll, and HAS CREATED A COMBINATION SIS-FIC OHMYGOD GO CHECK IT OUT RIGHT NOW. It's called ****_Sisterhood of the Traveling Hunters_**** and is has four amazing sisters - including Becca - in it. I swear you're gonna love it. There are quick links to the story and to her page in both my "Favorites" and "Follows" tabs. Okay, I'm getting off track. Onto her chapter request. :)**

_"I would love to see how you would approach the Winchesters trying to be 'normal' for a day. Fic would include Dean, Sam, Becca, and John doing something/trying something whether it be bowling or mini-golf or maybe going to a baseball game..."  
_**(She has also requested that the story be written in the 3rd person POV. :) And yes, it is in 3rd person, but I don't think I detailed it up to her or your expectations. If you would prefer I revisit and fix it, please, do tell.)**

**Well, I did my best on here for you, love. It may not be bowling or mini-golf, but I do think it is something that the Winchesters could have participated in once or twice. And although I did try very hard to keep each character true to ****_Supernatural_**** canon and fashion, I had to try to make it something realistic-ly Becca-ish. I hope you get what I mean..**

**If you ever have a request, please, PM me! :)**

**Without further ado!**

**READ. REVIEW. ENJOY. :)**

**Disclaimer.**

* * *

**But That Bass Though...**

**Ages:  
Dean - 16  
Sam/Becca - 12**

**Year:**  
**1995; Late Summer (before Becca's broken nose)**

**3rd Person POV**

The bright, uncovered sun hung just above eye level as evening approached the normally quiet Utah landscape. Insects sang out their songs in different octaves of buzzing while a few cars in the distance passed by on the interstate that sat off towards the west. For such a lonely, open area, John Winchester felt very weighed down and crowded. He squinted his eyes towards the sun as it loomed over head, and his unshaven chin lowered as his dry lips parted and he was at a loss for words to explain what was going through his mind. The long, persistent cry of a horn shook him from his trance like state, causing him to blink his now watering eyes and close his mouth before lifting his right hand and placing it on the slick surface of the Impala. With one quick flick of his wrist, he slammed the lid of the trunk closed, allowing himself to have a direct view of the smug look that had taken up residency on his eldest child's face.

Dean's clothes clung to him in a mass of wrinkled and distressed lines from the sweat that covered him like a second skin. Streaks of dirt ran haphazardly up his left arm, while his right hand loosely hung onto his now discarded button up flannel. Shallow cuts littered across both cheeks and forehead while a deeper one ran into the bottom of his full lower lip, slowly forming droplets that would drip to the earth below. Not that these cuts and the tears in the shirt and the small areas of now congealing blood weren't important; but, the only thing that ran through John's mind as he took in the sight of his son was that he was alive. That was the most important thing of all.

"We made a hell of a team, huh, Dad?" Dean's smug expression began to creep from his face into his tone of voice.

A small curve pulled John's lips upward as he mentally took in the site and words to forever remember. Inhaling and trying to seem more interested than he actually felt himself to be, John shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn leather jacket. "Yeah, son," he grinned, sinking farther into his feet, "we did. You up for some grub?"

Dean's eyes gleamed for a moment before the corners dropped slightly and the brightness faded at the lack of praise from his father. Dean's shoulder slumped and the hem of his shirt pooled onto the ground at his feet. The desire to look up and directly ask if he'd done a good job or for any kind of recognition lasted only an instant before he straightened his posture out once more and shoved the yearning down. Softening his eyes and losing the smug look on his face, Dean hardened a little bit both inside and out, just like he had since the first day he no longer received that admiration. "Yeah. I can always eat. You want me to call Sam and Bec, see if they want anything?" he questioned as his mind immediately shifted to his younger siblings who he knew would be waiting for them, perhaps hungry themselves.

"Nah," John looked over to the sun once more. "We'll grab them on the way. "

As Dean's ears perked up at this, he watched in wonder as his father started walking towards the driver's side door. He couldn't remember the last time his father didn't seem at least a little bit put out to have to remember the younger two that generally got left behind on a hunt. It was almost expected that Dean would have to remind him of their need for nourishment, always to be greeted with that remembrance and sigh of pain over having to make sure they were still okay instead of celebrating another kill, and essentially another day of survival.

* * *

Opening the door to the motel room, Dean's eyes widened as he froze in the door way in front of his father. It was as though he had hit and passed through a wall into a second dimension of sorts; or at least the wreckage of a tornado. Every light in the room was on its brightest setting; creating a glow that Dean didn't think the sun outside could even hold a candle to. Beside the TV stand were a stack of cushions, pillows, and even a mattress that looked as though it had toppled down out of its own accord rather than by someone else's force. Lined paper, both straight and balled, littered not only the floor, but the tables, the empty couch, and the one bed. Neither bed was made; instead there was a pile of blankets on the floor at the edge of the bed missing the mattress while other bed sat naked with no sheets or blankets. Loud music was filling the air from the small radio that sat against the edge of the couch, where the missing sheet was tucked under the back rest, and laying on the floor with a tear in it.

When John pushed past his son, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped before he slammed the door shut with a force that rattled the windows. A round, brunette head popped past the frame of the bathroom door, and wide, surprised, green eyes stared ahead towards the tall men that had recently entered.

Knowing she'd been seen, Becca took an inhale before slowly stepping out of the bathroom, her left hand clutching the dingy, rough, white cotton cloth to her upper right arm. "Uh, hey, Dad… Dean…" she shyly welcomed as she came all the way into the main part of the motel room. "Good hunt?" she attempted, hoping that they wouldn't ask what had happened and instead pretend they didn't see the disaster around them.

"Dean, find out where that music's coming from and shut off," John instructed to his son while his eyes never left his daughter. Trying to keep his temper under control, he held out a hand and went to indicate to the room around him – but as Dean clicked off the radio, John's hand dragged down his face. "Rebecca, take off that blanket."

Reaching her right arm up, sure to keep her left over the gash they couldn't see, she felt around her neck for the tied knot that Sam had produced for her when she'd mentioned the wish for a cape. As her long fingers slowly worked at the fabric, each word came out practically as it own, causing Becca to grow anxious at to what exactly would be awaiting her when she finished. "Um, well, see," she began, avoiding her father's eyes and instead staring at his feet. "I mean, we got _really_ bored, and that _Funniest Home Videos_ show was on… and then this one kid caught his dad in like, a parachute thing mad out of what looked like a sheet, okay? So then like, Sam said you would never really be able to make a guy bounce like that kid did, 'cause man, Dad, his dad went like, _super_ high into the air, right? So then like, I was totally telling Sam you could too do that! I mean, the kid did it! Right there on TV! But then, Sam was all, '_the fabric is too thin, it would never work_', so I told him you so could, because –"

"Okay, stop," John cut her off with an uplifted hand. He knew that he wanted straight, _clear_ answers then he had to talk to Sam. "Where's your brother?"

Becca's eyes shot towards the door behind her father and then to his face, where he stood waiting for an answer. Licking her lips, the wheels in her head spun crazily as she tried to come up with a good enough excuse for Sam to not get punished when he came back. They knew better than to leave the room, and Sam had definitely left. Granted, a run for supplies to fix her arm didn't seem like such a bad reason, Becca and Sam both knew better. They hadn't contacted their father or Dean for permission, or to let either of them know about Sam's necessity – never the less, she knew they would both be in trouble. "Uh, well, um," she stuttered as her father stuck out a finger and bent it repeatedly as an indication for her to close the distance between them. Slowly stepping away from the blanket that now laid on the floor, Becca took a few steps closer to her father.

"Rebecca… where is your brother?" John demanded in a smooth, low voice, making her swallow.

"He went out," she practically whispered as she did her best to look more towards the ground than towards his eyes.

"Where did he go, Becs?" Dean's voice asked from behind her as he recognized the anger flashing in his father's eyes. He knew an explosion would happen. It was only time.

A light catch in her throat made it sound as though Becca were fighting back tears – a task she'd been struggling with for years now. She didn't like to show tears anymore. They only seemed to make her father angrier, and they only made situations with Dean more awkward. Therefore she did her best to keep them at bay completely, or at least suppressed until she could sit in the shower alone with the running water to intermix with them. Trying to control her emotions, she did her best to mimic the hardness that she had seen Dean carry and perfect for years. "We needed supplies. You guys had the first aid kit, and even though I'd told him I was fine, Sam thought it be best to take care of it before you got back," she broke down and told her brother without any hesitation.

Over the years, even if Dean hadn't gotten along as well with his sister as he did with his brother, he'd always managed to get the truth out of her. It had begun with a look that did it, but as the years progressed, he could speak in a specific tone which eventually led all the way to just asking the simple question. Even with their fights getting worse with each passing day and each growing teenage hormone, Becca was always honest with him. Dean knew she didn't necessarily respect him or agree with him on much, and he didn't have pride or patience in everything she did, but they had that. She was honest with him, and he always believed her. They had an underlying bond of loyalty and trust – and that was one of the highest things on Dean's list of positives for his relationship with his sister. No matter how short the list was.

There was a sigh from both sides of Becca, one more annoyed than the other which was reaching a breaking point. "What happened?" John dragged out, drawing his daughter's focus to the front of her once more.

"I tried jumping from the tower we'd made, into the sheet. I ended up falling on the edge of the table, and the glass dish that was on it fell onto the floor and broke, cutting my arm and the sheet." Before John could react further than his widening eyes and looking to where her right hand still clutched at the left arm with the cotton cloth that was now continuing to grow a bright shade of red, Dean was at their side, lifting her hand away from the gash. "Ow," Becca whined, as Dean forced the move. "No, Dean, that hurts. It's really not that bad. Just wait, Sam will be back soon!"

Dean shot his sister a look, only to cause her to look at her father for some sort of back up, and receive none. Groaning, Becca allowed her hand to move and showed a deep, dark red gash in her upper arm, where blood was continuing to flow out of it.

"Jesus Christ, Rebecca," John immediately spit, dragging her to the bed and forcing her to sit down as he snapped his fingers in an indication for Dean to bring him the first aid kit. He inspected the cut, and caught her pleading eyes with his own angry ones. "How many times have I told you guys to just stay in the room, lock the door, and not draw any attention to yourself? Do you know how much trouble you two could have brought on us if someone had reported all the noise you guys made?"

He didn't mean to, but his grip tightened on her arm, causing her to wince and quietly whimper in agony. Catching himself, he threw her arm down, almost too forcefully and allowed her brother to take over as he shoved himself from the bed and began to pace the room. He felt as though the walls were closing in on him. The summer months always seemed to do that to him. If it had just been the two boys, he figured it might be easier to handle, but Becca was a different case. She was clumsy, beyond clumsy, and she drew attention. She held an innocence about her that slowed them down, even with her training. She didn't handle the guns as well as Sam and Dean, and she was never out of questions. Even if she took in the instruction, you could see the wheels turning and the expressions on her face fight against being shown. She was different from Sam in that respect. Sam voiced his disdain and fought against what it was he was told – Becca didn't like to stir up any problems within her family. She felt as though there were enough. She'd learned at a young age, there were certain things in the world you could count on. There would always be monsters, that her father would try and protect her from. Family looked out for family. And her father could only protect her if she did what she was told – no matter how she felt about it.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, John stopped and inhaled deeply. The air seemed thick and full, and he felt as though he couldn't catch a proper breath. Dragging his fingers along his face, he peered over the tops of them and saw the chaos that filled the room and he felt an anger boil inside of him. Looking to the left as a hiss sounded from Becca when Dean began to clean the wound with what little peroxide and alcohol he had, he took in the site. She was cut, and depending on how poorly Dean stitched her, she could scar. Dean himself had blood on his face, and was covered in dirt and sweat from their hunt where John himself had almost gotten distracted by his sons own safety. Sam wasn't back, and even though Sam was about as smart and trustworthy as they come, John couldn't take the chance. He couldn't protect Sam if Sam wasn't there.

A mix of emotions suddenly swirled around John and he fought against the pull of filling himself with alcohol until everything inside and out went completely numb. It was as though it was his only escape. If he drank enough he could sleep, a deep sleep, a sleep that wasn't revolving around fires or fear of losing what little family he had left – the family that kept him connected with Mary, the family she'd fought to save. The motel door opened, drawing John from his start of a downward spiral, and he instantly moved, snapping out of the swarm of craziness that consumed him. He needed out. He needed peace. He needed a moment of true freedom.

"Let's go, all of you. Now. Sam, you can patch your sister up in the car. Come on, move!" he bellowed as his children stared at him as though he were speaking in tongues. As though some sort of spark ignited, all three jumped up and started to collect things from around the room, as though they had two minutes to escape. "No," he abruptly halted all movement. "Becca, grab the first aid kit, Sam, grab cooler and fill it with beers, and Dean, start the car. We're not leaving town just yet."

* * *

"Ew, I'm _not_ touching _that_," Becca decided when Dean held out the leach for her to take.

"Take. The leach. Becca," he enunciated, his eyes narrowing and his hand further extending towards her.

Bending forward, so her face was a few small inches away from her brother's, Becca dragged out a deepened, "Nooooo," as a sort of mock to his demand.

"Damn it, Becca!" Dean leapt up from the bench, ready for the attack and prepared himself to get in her face. His sister jumped back, terrified of the sudden action. A yelp escaped from her mouth and just as Dean was towering over her curled up form, with his free arm searching for hers so as to put the leach in her hand, their father came down the pier towards them.

"Dean, leave your sister alone," John spoke monotonously as he lifted his tackle box over his children and stopped at the end of the pier.

As Dean stood up straight, he spiked the leach into the water and gave a killer glare towards his sister. Becca stood up sheepishly, a little thankful that her father had stopped Dean. "Way to be a girl, Bec," Sam seemed to scold as he walked past her with a cooler and a few poles. Seeing her face fall slightly at the comment, he smiled and nudged her playfully, causing a wide grin to form on her face and her eyes to sparkle with their normal brightness.

Smirking, Becca flipped her hair towards her twin. "I _am_ a girl, Sam," she jested before attempting to strut down towards the end of the pier where the boat sat rocking in the water. She managed a few confident steps before slipping on a small puddle on one of the boards and stumbling into Dean who then had to fight toppling over into the boat itself.

* * *

Turning off the boat's engine, John turned to face the three expectant children in front of him. Becca was casually leaning against Sam's legs while he gripped the three poles tightly on top his lap, being extra careful not allow the hooks to catch in his sister's hair. Dean was seated on the seat just in front of John, working on one pole as he had been instructed, preparing it for the evening's activity.

"Hand those poles over, Sammy," John directed with an outstretched hand and small smile. Sam did as he was told while Becca ducked her head out of the way.

After a few moments of quick coaching as to how to properly work the fishing pole and proper procedures to take when removing the fish, each young Winchester had a pole in hand, ready to cast their line. John watched as Sam stood, completely focused, fingers wrapped tightly around the pole, eyes staring forward to the place he was determined to sink his lure, dedicated to the task at hand just like he was with everything else he did in life. Sam was committed, and that was something John took pride in knowing. Casting his eyes to Becca, John saw the lowered brow line and pursed lips as she eyed her hands on the pole repeatedly. He was sure that if he put enough effort into listening, he would be able to hear the wheels turning in her head and hear her own voice telling her each step over and over again. He watched as the hook swung off in the distance, separating his daughter from the leach Dean had reluctantly shoved onto the metal piece. Her stance was stiff, her legs more than shoulder width apart, as though she were ready for an attack. He chuckled quietly to himself at her dramatics that always seemed to accompany her. Turning to look at Dean, John watched Dean's eyes flutter back and forth between Sam and the pole in his own hands. Dean knew that Sam would know exactly what he was doing. There were many things that John was aware of Dean to be confident in, and it still took him by surprise that when his eldest seemed uncertain, he would rely on his brother for clarification. Taking in the site of his children, John almost felt himself slip into a long lost calmness and happiness that he used to reside in. Forcing himself to take on an alerted persona, he cleared his throat and drew six eyes up towards his face.

"All right. Go ahead and cast your lines. We came here to fish, not stand around like a bunch of fools with poles," he told them. Each child watched as John clicked his own reel and swiftly took his arm back behind his head and then threw the line forward, causing each of their eyes to watch as the leach plunged into the water with a soft _plop_. Sighing, John set his pole into the holder that was attached to the side of the boat, and sat himself on the bench. "All right," he told them as the continued to watch as he set the line and then opened a beer. "Cast!"

Sam was the first to send out the line, smiling in a satisfied manner when he managed to land the bobber directly where he'd planned. Setting his own line, he sat down in his seat and propped his feet on the edge of the boat before pulling a book out of the inside of his jacket and opening it. In perfect Sam fashion, he became engrossed, checking his line between each page. John rolled his eyes in a disbelieving way as Dean's arm went above his father's head as he drew his pole back. With a sharp cut in the air, Dean's line flew out with a long noise of the line unraveling from within the reel. Setting his line, Dean threw himself onto the seat in front of his father, his smug smirk on his face as he noticed his bobber bouncing past where his younger brother had landed his own. Reaching into the cooler, John pulled out a beer and handed it to his eldest before turning to see his daughter standing in the same position as before.

"What's wrong, Becca?" he questioned as he failed to see her point in not casting out the line.

"What do we do when we put the line out there?" she posed not looking at him, but instead to his bobber in the distance.

"We wait," Dean spit to her as if she were dumb.

Shooting her brother a look, she then faced her father. "We just wait. That's it? There's nothing else? Like, we don't keep casting or anything? And what if the string thing breaks? Or like, I hook Sam in the eyeball or something? I mean, I don't know how to fish! Why are we even out here! This boat is so tiny and why can't Dean sit on the floor!?"

Standing up and setting his beer down, John stood behind his daughter. "Stop," he told her calmly. "Just relax. Here, press down on the button, pull back, and then throw it forward."

Becca sighed and nodded her head, watching her father nod his own head in an indication to continue. Pressing the button like instructed, she pulled her arm back and checked over her shoulder to double and triple check that she hadn't caught her hook on her twin, and then exhaled before sending her entire arm forward, releasing on the button, sending her line forward. A smile overtook her face and she restrained herself from jumping and throwing herself on her father in happiness. Listening to her father's next words of setting the line, she set it down and then looked around her to see everyone else completely at ease and doing their own thing. Dean's eyes were closed as he lounged on the seat with a smile, a beer clutched in his hand while his pole sat in the other. Sam's feet were still perched on the rim of the boat while he was hunched over, completely consumed by the story in his hands. John was sitting in the chair staring ahead, seeming pained, and as though he were holding back from something.

Becca didn't know what to do. She hadn't brought anything, and if she were honest with herself, she was already bored. Huffing, she dropped to the floor next to her pole and leaned back, her legs stretched out all the way in front of her, almost reaching the other side. Closing her eyes, she tried to fall into relaxation and ignore the light sting that continued to linger in her now stitched arm. Her bliss was short lived as a pain in the back of her shoulders emerged from the boat digging into her. Snapping her eyes open, she brought her legs up and leaned forward, staring ahead of her.

"Hey, Sam," she spoke, narrowing her eyes as she scanned the water. "Where's your floating ball thing?"

Sam's eyes looked from his sister into the water ahead of him, where the bobber was no longer visible. "Reel it in, Sammy!" Dean quickly pushed as Sam dropped his book and feet to the floor of the boat and grabbed his pole.

Dragging the fish towards the boat seemed to be a struggle for Sam as he ended up standing and watched as his pole took a curved shape, the tip of it getting closer and closer to the water's edge. No one in the boat moved to help Sam, all of them staring in wonder as his lips thinned and pushed together into one tight line, and his feet took on a stance of preparation. The knuckles on his hands were white and the muscles in his young arms were straining. All it took was one hard tug and the large fish emerged in the water and wriggled in the air against Sam's hold on the pole. Turning his body and bringing the fish towards the boat, Becca saw the fish coming toward her head. Jumping up, she hopped to the side of the boat furthest from her twin, causing it to sway and bounce in response. Grabbing onto the back of his chair, Sam swung the pole further into the boat and directly into his sister before dropping it.

"EW! IT TOUCHED ME! Get it, get it, get it!" Becca yelled as the fish fell from where it'd slapped against her arm and then flopped around on boat. Becca continued to hop around, trying her best to avoid having the fish touch her again, only to cause the boat to sway back and forth violently.

"SIT DOWN!" all other occupants in the boat shouted as water splashed over the sides and now flooded the plastic carpeting at the feet.

Throwing herself down, she squirmed and then broke out in a distressed cry-complaint. Sam could hardly contain himself as he leaned back in his chair and began to laugh. "Ew…" Becca whined, already starting to stand up to assess the situation.

"What now?" John sighed as he finished catching the large fish and dropping it into the bucket they'd brought along. He found himself starting to think that fishing might not have been the best idea after all.

Sam continued to gasp for breath as Becca's cheeks grew red from embarrassment. "She-she," Sam struggled to get out as he pointed. "She sat," he began to laugh harder at having to say what happened.

"It's. Not. Funny," she fumed as she rolled to her knees and turned to face her twin.

A sputtering came from behind her as Dean looked up to see numerous leaches suck to the seat of his sister's pants. As Dean did his best to not fall into laughter like his brother, he nudged his father and motioned for him to look. John's eyes shot from his son's struggling face to where his daughter was kneeling and trying to wipe up her mess. Internally groaning, he himself already was regretting to have to talk to her.

"Bec," he cleared his throat, "Rebecca." Her head spun around to look at her father questioningly. Motioning for her to come to him, he pulled her down and whispered the problem in her ear.

Larger laughs rang from Sam as he finally saw the attached leaches, and Becca froze out of mortification. Slowly her hands made it to the seat of her pants and she began to cry. John shot an angry look to his youngest son who silenced immediately at both the look and the sound of his sister's true unhappiness while Dean kept his head bent so he could clear the smile off of his face and re-emerge completely calm and collected. Becca did her best to pull off each leach, wordlessly hating every moment she had left on the boat. She was convinced that there was no possible way for anything to possibly get worse.

* * *

"Damn it, Becca! Look what you did!" Dean growled as he indicated to the paddle that was floating a good five feet from the side of the boat, not far from his can of beer.

"I didn't do it, you did!" she argued, stomping her foot.

"Your gonna get that net, and you're gonna bring that oar and beer back into this boat," he demanded.

Sam was giggling at the site in front of him, while John did his best to keep a straight face at his children's interactions. Here, his sixteen year old son was towering over his twelve year old daughter. Both had clenched fists at their sides, and the same "_try me, I dare you_" looks on their faces. For how much Becca was like her twin, she was just as much like her eldest brother; but possibly in the worst ways. Both were stubborn and a little close-minded, Dean much more so than Becca. She had learned a finer art of accepting people from Sam – and it played nicely with her faith in humanity. However, neither Dean nor Becca liked to back down – and struggled at times to even do it with their father – least of all with each other. John had come to notice that since his daughter had "grown up" last year, she'd become much more opinionated and there was an ever growing rift between her and Dean. And here, they stood – a mirrored image, both not willing to give in.

Dean growled and stepped closer to his sister, who almost failed to notice. "I said grab the net," he seethed.

Standing up taller, Becca stepped toe-to-toe with him. "And I'm saying no."

"Grab the net."

"No."

"Grab it."

"Nooooooo."

"Why not!?"

"You didn't say please!"

"_Please_ grab the net."

"Not with that attitude."

"Damn it," Dean lurched forward to tackle his sister and the small boat swayed heavily under the movement. As Dean dove ahead towards his sibling, she stumbled back on top of Sam, falling onto his lap and causing him to drop his pole into the water on the other side of the boat.

Angry at the antics of his children, and worried that one of them, if not _all_ of them would end up in the deep water he stood up and grabbed the collar of his son's shirt, and forced him into a seat. "That's enough!" he hollered, causing everything minus the movements of the boat to stop. "You two have sent a pole, and an oar into the water, and one of you is going to give me an answer as to how to get them out. Which one of you is it gonna be?" he questioned, indicating to Dean and Becca.

Dean smirked. "I say we throw Becca in after them."

"Shut up, Dean," she yelled back, earning a look from her father.

John's eyes could have killed them all. "If you two ever plan on hunting together, you're gonna need to learn to work together. Becca, you're never goin' to be able to come on a hunt with me if you can't control your anger –"

"But –" Becca stopped talking when John's eyes narrowed in her direction.

After grumblings and further disagreements, it was finally decided that both of them would do their best to collect the things floating away from the boat. As Dean's arms were longer, he was to hold the net while Becca tried to maneuver the floating device closer to the lost items. While reaching out as far as she could for the oar that Dean had scooped close to her fingertips, Becca accidentally kicked over the bucket that had been holding the numerous fish they'd caught throughout their time on the water. As the fish jumped around the floor, and one right into her, she jumped and lurched forward, attempting to stand up. As she fumbled with her balance, her calves smacked against the side of the boat, and even with Sam and Dean's attempts to catch her hands, she toppled over into the water, pulling her eldest brother with her.

Popping her head above the surface, she looked around her to see both of the oars, the net, multiple cans, and a pole floating around her. Reaching out she grasped a cold can and held it out towards Dean. "Thirsty?" she sheepishly tried as some sort of an apology, only to throw her arm over her face as he swept his hand over the water and splashed her. Growling, she immediately retaliated.

Watching as water flew back and forth between the two of them, John sighed and leaned back as far as his chair allowed, exhausted more after being with them than he had been from the hunt. Turning his head to the right, he smiled as Sam just leaned forward and shook his own head at his siblings' antics. "Well, Sammy," John spoke, causing his son's head to look at him with wonder. "I think next time we just get fish from some diner and call it a day."


End file.
